I walk in and eyes press on me, my anxiety tells me I’m watched. Simple movements feel judged; wrong. Once more I tell myself to move.
Sticking to what I know, I hang close to the walls. They can see less of me there; still, out here screams “outcast.”
I move in, edging at the sides. Feeling brave, I’ll close my eyes and drive. Soon I’m swallowed up; lost. Gaining traction, though hardly I move.
Stuck now thinking, on loop again, again, again. No direction. Pulling out of the one track thought: I start to breathe.
Once more I’ll close my eyes; I’ll dive.
By: Caitlin Schemmer
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